Product no. 1734-ENG. Designation= "Child"

Thomsonite. White-gray, unblemished.

Object positioned haphazardly, jutting out of substrate in pearly spheres. Spontaneously materialized one cycle ago, dangerously close to a sustained cyclone yet surviving nonetheless. Weathering damage from excessive wind mitigated by unusual thickness and size. No anomalous features past it's sudden appearance.

A shivering. Multiple recorded movements seemed to come from inside. A crack quickly spread across it's domed surface, and then a clawed appendage burst through in a show of liquid. Remainder of the stone quickly fell apart, revealing a small pangolin huddled inside. Hunched body, sparse fur, large keratin sheaths growing on posterior. Unusual pale gemstone growing out of facial tissue. Possibly axanthic.

It looked up: eyes were partially obscured by stone sheath. It paused for several moments upon seeing the weather patterns, before instinctively crawling away from the tornado. Movement was clumsy and unusual, teetering forwards and back due to imbalanced form. Unknown fluid still dripped from it's body but it did not stop to investigate. For the moment, it's only objective was to find shelter.

Once it found a sturdy, large boulder, the creature immediately slunk behind and started grooming the fluid off it's body. It had to be neat for it's first day in existence.

Racing wind, course and wild like fire. It drew the curious raven child in. What wouldn't? He had rammed into a rock within his first few seconds of breathing. He could probably be made curious of anything.

Speaking of rocks, here was a big one. The raven child appraised it -- yes, this one could be good for hitting. It could also be good for shelter against the winds. He would try hitting it first, though, just to see.

HIT! It was meager. But maybe that was for the best. Pratap's head-- oh, Pratap was his name now? Yes! Pratap! Pratap's head didn't hurt as much when it hit with less force!

The wind continued it's assault against the boulders. Meanwhile, it-- the child-- continued huddling behind it's makeshift shelter as it gauged its situation. Words were beginning to form in its mind, but it still wasn't sure where it was or even what it was. Simply that it was in a location with high wind speeds, and it did not desire being in it.

A thud. Something was hitting it's scales.

The grey being turned, slowly, to face whatever had smacked it. It-- or he, perhaps-- was some black animal ('Feathered. Equipped with a beak. Toothless.') which had, for some reason, hit it with his cranium. It could not understand why. Confusion flitted through it's (largely empty) mind, but none if it showed through that stone mask.

"Hello," A word carefully chosen from it's limited vocabulary. Stilted and awkward. "... Your skull collided with my-- ('Who exactly is this "my"?') --torso."

Simple, simple statements. It could not handle questions just yet. Maybe it never will.